Objects
by x0wynn0x
Summary: Facebook status change, deletion of pictures, getting rid of the little stuff...that was Quinn's plan to move on. Until she was presented with her own Metro North Passes.


**AN:** Was supposed to be for Faberry Week, but is now officially a year late. Bravo *pats myself on the back* Gets a little cheesy at the end just because I don't quite know how to end a story.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, if I did nobody on Glee would be an asshole and they'd all ride into a rainbow sunset.

* * *

First order of business, she changes her relationship status. Everyone on Facebook, from her old high school friends to her mother - and even her creepy uncle Kevin who she never sees - comments on it as if it their livelihood were dependent on the outcome. Especially her mom who sounded more distraught and disappointed in her than when she came home knocked up with not-really-Finn Hudson-and-actually-Noah-Puckerman's baby.

"Don't tell me you're whoring around!" Judy Fabray accuses.

Quinn chokes on her milk and has to perform a one man Heimlich maneuver, which looks more like she's assaulting herself than anything. When she gets back on the phone, Judy is clicking her tongue.

"No! I'm not – we just weren't working out," Quinn says.

"Sweetie, how can you not work out? She was perfect for you. She was the greatest thing that has ever happened to you, and you know it. Don't be an idiot and make the biggest mistake of your life."

"You planned out our wedding already, haven't you?"

There's silence until Judy admits shamelessly, "It takes at least half a year to book the Lima Stone's ballroom. I was doing you both a favor and how dare you deprive me of a second grandchild!"

"Mom, we're only 23 and marriage – much less _babies _– were never in our agenda."

"I'm not canceling on the Lima Stone!"

Judy hangs up before Quinn can call her crazy. After her mother, Russell calls to say, "Congratulations," which was as far as he got before Quinn hung up on him. Her sister Franny texts her to say if she ever needed a shoulder to cry on then she should probably call Santana or Brittany because Franny's not too good with the whole "gay thing."

When she goes to recheck Facebook, she notices 5 new notifications from her ex-Yale classmates asking if she wants to go get coffee, a bacon burger, shit faced, etc. Her responses are different variations of "Thanks, but no thanks," because as heartbroken and newly single as she is, it still feels wrong to be with someone who wasn't Rachel Berry.

* * *

After the relationship change, comes the photo deletions and the untaggings. Fortunately, she's not much of a social network person so there weren't many things for her to delete. Most of the Facebook photos came from Rachel's end of the deal, so all Quinn has to do is untag herself.

She doesn't have the heart to tell Rachel to delete her own photos.

With their relationship semi-erased from the internet, Quinn eases herself into getting rid of the more tangible stuff, like actual photos from real picture frames. She is even surprised to find a photo album tucked between a Knitting For Dummies and a Bedazzling For Dummies book.

Several times, she tries to stop herself from going through the photos, but that's like dangling a solo in front of Rachel and not expecting her to get it. A minute in and it's already one of the worst decisions Quinn's ever made.

The consequence manifests itself into tears that somehow managed to stain the laminated pages. Curiosity didn't kill Quinn – no way, that's too easy of a punishment – curiosity backhand slapped her across the face then drop kicked her in the chest, and that was after calling her every dirty name in the Lucy Caboosey handbook.

Despite all this pain and teenage-level angst, Quinn can't bring herself to close the photo album. There are photos that she doesn't remember taking, embarrassing photos that should have never been taken, sexy photos that should not be allowed in public albums, and photos that her mom could have used on their (non-existent) wedding invitations.

There's one of her and Rachel during her first visit to New York. There's one of her, Rachel, Santana and Kurt making fools out of themselves in some karaoke bar. There's another of her hugging Rachel after Rachel's first starring role in her school's production.

Then it becomes her and Rachel at a birthday party, arms wrapped around each other in a more than friendly way. One more of her and Rachel at the same party, heads close together and gazing dreamily into each other's eyes like disgustingly cute puppy dogs.

There are ones where they're kissing in front of the Walt Disney Concert hall, Empire State building, LACMA, a grimacing Santana, a random tourist spot in New Jersey. Then there's one where they're in bed snuggled up like it's Christmas morning. Hugging each other like it's a poor romantic comedy. Laughing at each other's expenses. Making stupid faces and exaggerated poses at the camera.

It's their history, all in this 30-page photo album.

With the photos come the memories, and with the memories come the feelings – emotions that do not help Quinn on her Getting Over Rachel Berry quest. Even as she gathers the strength to dump the album in her Hefty double durable trash bags, it doesn't take the feelings away.

Instead, it worsens them until she finds herself crying over a trashcan.

* * *

There are clothes.

Clothes that mean much more to Quinn than the photos. Clothes that were once Rachel's, worn by Rachel, or touched by Rachel. Clothes that they bought together, that Rachel bought for her, that she bought for herself because she thought Rachel might like them on her.

One is a stupid sweater with knitted dinosaurs kissing. Another is a t-shirt with a bright, shining gold star smack dab in the middle. She also has a pink one with Barbra Streisand's face stenciled on. As one can imagine, most of them are the ugliest clothes Quinn has ever worn, but they're _Rachel_'s clothes, which translates to being the best things Quinn has ever owned.

She doesn't have the heart to throw them away, because unlike the photos these clothes belong to Rachel as much as they belong to her. Maybe Rachel can donate them to the Salvation army; Quinn's sure some unlucky soul could make a good scarf out of her itchy Wicked sweater. She decides to have a box designated specifically for Rachel's Things, which she plans on giving back to her ex.

The clothes go inside, along with some mixtapes (actual cassettes – Rachel's idea, because that's the only correct way to make mixtapes), a couple of playbills, movies and musicals that Quinn could never watch without Rachel, a couple of Rachel's stage plays that she wrote in college, a mug, posters from concerts that Rachel's been to, a $100 coffee machine, some shoes.

Quinn doesn't realize how much of Rachel's things she has until she ends up with 3 boxes of Rachel's Things, and there are still places inside her apartment she hasn't rummaged through yet. The bathroom alone will require one box. It's a testament to Rachel's skills, her ability to sneak her way into someone's life and rearrange their entire living quarters without their knowledge.

Rachel has left her mark.

But her mark isn't the possessions that somehow managed to dominate half of Quinn's apartment; it's the complete opposite of that. The mark appears when Rachel takes everything with her in her departure, leaving the other person to notice how _empty_ their home has become. It appears in the middle of the night when Quinn is in her bed, when she reaches out to her right, Rachel's side, and touches nothing but air.

Nothing is the same, feels right, without her girl.

This emptiness, Quinn believes, is worst than having a reminder of what was.

* * *

She deletes Rachel's number after calling her to pick up her things.

She cleans her face, puts on her best clothes, and tries to present herself as someone who _has_ slept in days, who _hasn't_ been crying, who's _trying_ to move on. Who eats and smiles and calls up friends to hang out. Who doesn't spend her hours at home staring at blank walls that used to be plastered with things that normal un-heartbroken people might describe as, "a life."

She thinks about leaving Rachel's Things on the outside of her door so that Rachel can just drop by, pick them up, and leave without any interaction. The thought fights with her for a while until she ends up winning by reminding that thought that she has crazy neighbors and an even crazier ex that will flip out if she were to do such an immature thing.

She's conflicted. She wants to see Rachel but then doesn't want to see Rachel. She wants to show Rachel that she's moving on but doesn't want to give Rachel the impression that she wants to move on. She wants to do a hundred million things that contradict each other. She wants to be in love again.

Quinn is still hovering over whether or not to leave Rachel's Things halfway inside and halfway outside her door when the knocks come. She swallows thickly and tries to calm her aching chest. Her fingertips are sweaty and she's having hot flashes that no one in their early 20s should ever experience.

"Hi," is Rachel's greeting.

It's so simple that Quinn could feel her cheeks betraying her. She's smiling before she could stop herself, which prompts Rachel to smile along with her. So now they're both smiling together as if they weren't meeting up to write the ending of their story.

When the truth of the situation sinks back into Quinn's senses, she lets her smile drop and invites Rachel inside. The boxes are already waiting by the couch, and they're arranged and labeled in the way Quinn knows Rachel would appreciate. Why she manages to do these little _pleasant_ things for her ex, she doesn't know or want to examine.

"That's…a lot," Rachel says, eyebrows raising at all 5 boxes.

"They're all your stuff."

"I didn't realize I left that many things here."

"You practically lived here for a year."

Quinn doesn't want to sound biting, but it comes out as such. She just wants to get this over with and continue on with their day as if they haven't spent the last 3 years together. Five if you count their two early years in college as platonic friends. As if they had ever been just platonic friends.

Rachel stands there, staring idly at the boxes and looking like she's going through an internal struggle (Good, Quinn thinks). She releases a breath then bites on her lower lip, moves that also doesn't go unnoticed by Quinn.

"So this is it," Rachel whispers.

Quinn avoids Rachel's gaze and keeps her mouth shut, otherwise something awful like, "It doesn't have to be!" or "I love you!" might come spewing out. She nods instead. After several seconds of silence and awkward staring at nothing, she asks through a voice that sounds too vulnerable and weak to her ears. "Do you – do you need help putting it in your car?"

"Yes, please."

Quinn makes the mistake of glancing up and meeting Rachel's eyes. They're glassy, sad, and staring at her with a million silent statements. Quinn doesn't want to know what Rachel's trying to tell her though, so she quickly turns away and goes for the boxes. She stops when she feels a hand on her elbow.

"I wasn't prepared for this," Rachel says, "So I didn't bring much of your things. I did got you these. They were in my purse."

Rachel presents her train tickets wrapped together with a rubber band. The tickets are old, crumpled, and a bit torn at the edges. They're dated back years ago – back before they got together, back before Rachel landed her first supporting actress role, back before Quinn made something of her life that even Russell Fabray would be proud of, back before a stupid argument escalated into the dissolution of Quinn's greatest relationship.

"You – you kept these?" Quinn asked, and suddenly there are tears in her eyes that matches Rachel's.

Rachel licks her wet lips and chuckles. "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"I – I don't understand."

"For 4 years straight, we visited each other back and forth every other weekend. That's the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me."

Quinn is speechless. She never once thought about those tickets as anything more than just tickets that she should throw away after using. She's in more disbelief that Rachel still feels that way; still believe in the sort of stuff that only a 16-year old Rachel Berry would romanticize over.

"Even when we were just friends," Rachel says, "We still visited each other. Even when we fought, we still came to see each other. Even during that period after you told me you were in love with me and I couldn't figure out my left to my right, and everything was awkward, we still spent those weekends together – awkwardly. These tickets, they're everything to me. To us."

Quinn continues to stare at the thick package of tickets, unable to take them from her ex.

"You can delete me off Facebook," Rachel says with another wet chuckle, "Throw away my things, pretend I don't exist, but you can't take away the fact that we spent hours on a train for four years just to see each other for four days out of a month. You can't get rid of that sort of love or devotion."

Quinn shakes her head then blinks away her tears. _I'm still in love with you_ she wants to say, but she opts for an, "Ok. Al - alright."

Rachel hands the tickets over, and Quinn can't help the shiver that runs up her spine the moment their fingers touch. She doesn't immediate take her hand back, but then Rachel doesn't either.

They're at a limbo, where their fingers are touching and their eyes are connecting and they don't know what else to do. Neither of them want to let go, and neither of them can think of the reasons why they broke up in the first place. They don't understand why they broke up. They don't know why or how they got to this place.

Quinn thinks back on the metro tickets. She thinks back on the 2 years where they would travel back and forth just to hang out as friends, not out of obligations or requirements but because they felt like it. Then there was the other 2 years where they were just beginning their courtship, and each trip became more important to Quinn than her career or her studies. She thinks back to the things they both sacrificed just to be _together_, or would continue to sacrifice by being together. She thinks it was worth it.

She thinks Rachel is still worth it.

"Wait," Quinn says when Rachel finally pulls her hand away. She doesn't break away from Rachel's shaky gaze. "I think maybe we should – lets just start over."

"What do you mean?"

Quinn turns to the box of Rachel's Things then to the metro tickets, and she finally gets it. She finally gets it. "I don't want to throw away what we have just because we had an argument." She shrugs hopelessly. "I don't want to fight anymore. I'm tired to fighting."

"Are you sure?" Rachel asks, and Quinn can see the question in Rachel's eyes. Rachel is searching for any doubt, any hesitation, any second-guessing on Quinn's behalf.

"Yes." Quinn hands the stack of tickets back to Rachel. "I want to redo this, redo us."

Rachel's smile breaks across her tear-stained face, and Quinn thinks it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. "We're going to have to start at the very beginning."

Quinn shrugs and matches Rachel's smile. "Then we'll do it."

The emptiness disappears as soon as Rachel takes the tickets back.


End file.
